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Yes, I found it. But only think, Sissy," (in a shocked whisper,) "that old wagtail can't count even up to five! She said there were four eggs, and there are only two. I can nearly count to twenty."

He sat for a long time brooding sadly over the gross ignorance of his friend the wagtail, and refused to look at her, although with great agility she caught and devoured a large gnat under his very eyes. To get rid of painful reflections, he asked what "Sissy" was reading.

About wonderful men and women who lived a long way off in a hot country called Greece."

"Tell me about them," was the inevitable rejoinder.

Ursula began her favourite story, the beautiful and touching legend of Medusa.

ness.

"There were once three sisters, called the Gorgons, who lived in a land where it was always dark. The beautiful sunshine and the fresh breezes never came there, and there were no birds, or trees, or flowers-only a bare ugly world and silence. The two eldest sisters were the same as fairies, and they did not mind the silence and darkBut the youngest, Medusa, was like other people. Day by day she grew sadder, for she longed for the light and love of the world, and when she spoke of it to her sisters, they told her it was foolishness, and bade her be hard and silent like themselves. For a long time no one came to that joyless land, and there was no one to pity Medusa. But at last the great goddess Athene passed that way, and Medusa went and fell down at her feet, begging for help. She said, 'Take me away from this great silence, that I may know what it is to live and to love as other mortals do.' But Athene would not listen to her, for she said, 'Men would be afraid of your sad face.' Medusa answered humbly, 'It is only this living death that makes my face terrible. Take me away, and I shall become as beautiful as you, great Athene.' Then the cruel Athene was very angry and destroyed all Medusa's beauty, and changed her long hair into hissing snakes. She looked so terrible in her lonely despair that every one who saw her was turned into stone. But there was one hope left, for Medusa knew that some day she must die. She had to wait a long, long time, but at last there came the bright hero, Perseus, who took away her life, and then she knew what peace meant."

Ursula had begun her story in such simple language as Victor could understand, but as she proceeded, she lost sight of her little hearer, and saw only Medusa the fair in her lonely home. When she came to

Medusa's petition for the warmth and action of human life, her low voice suddenly thrilled with sympathy as she realised for the first time how her own life was cut off from the busy world, which she knew existed somewhere. Hitherto her dreams and books, and Victor's love had sufficed to make her happy. But in that instant the awakening had come, and she was filled with a new longing to know something of real life.

With all healthy, active-minded young people, who have been brought up in seclusion, this crisis comes sooner or later, sometimes gradually, sometimes, as in Ursula's case, as a sudden revelation. We may surround them with love and peace and beauty, and try to shut their ears against the sounds from the distant battle-field of the world. But some day they will want to be in the thick of the fight.

When Ursula came to speak of Medusa's unrequited aspirations, her voice gathered something of the hopeless sorrow of her heroine, as she wondered if she too would be condemned to remain in this dreamworld until death. She recalled the words she had uttered that morning on seeing the sunny landscape. She knew now that she would not be content to pass the rest of her days in the solitude of Stanmore. During the long silence that ensued, Victor sat staring at her in vague astonishment. He had not understood half of the story, but he caught the sadness in his sister's voice, and it frightened him.

"If she was unhappy, why didn't she ask God to make her happy again ?" he ventured at last, in awe-struck tones.

Ursula did not turn her head, but said dreamily, more to herself than to Victor: "She was in the dark, and so am I."

"Sissy, why are you crying ?"

She looked round then, winking away the unusual drops, and seeing the boy's scared face, bent down and kissed him, saying with a laugh: "That was too sad a story for you, darling. Come and show me the wagtail's nest."

And they were soon playing together as if perplexing thoughts did not exist.

The following day being as bright as that on which Ursula had made this important discovery, it was decided that she and Victor should spend the afternoon on the little island in the middle of the miniature lake. The boy was delighted with the prospect, for he suspected that the white ducks had cheated his curiosity by making their nest in a clump of sedges. Long before Ursula was ready, the little

fellow was waiting under her window, hugging a half-grown tabby kitten. He never went anywhere without one or other of his numerous family.

Ursula had armed herself with one of Bulwer Lytton's novels, which in her newly awakened interest in active life, she had ferreted out of the library. Happily for her, she had hitherto avoided the somewhat doubtful novels that stood so invitingly upon the shelves, partly on account of a half-remembered remark of her governess, partly because they did not seem as interesting as her poetry and folklore.

On reaching the island, the duck's nest was soon found, and to Victor's great joy, those of several small birds besides. Then Ursula settled herself down under the acacia tree and plunged into her new acquisition. Victor, growing tired of sitting still and talking only to Kitty, "who was too young to understand much," he told her, wandered about in search of fresh playmates.

Presently he came back: "May Kitty and I get into the boat to look at the fishes, Sissy ?"

But the hero of Ursula's novel was just making the acquaintance of the heroine, and the child had to repeat his question.

"Yes, yes. Only don't worry me," she replied, absently.

noon.

An hour passed, and it was getting towards the middle of the afterUrsula's book became more and more engrossing, and everything seemed to combine to make her forgetful of the outer world. The warm, comfortable sunshine, the gentle rippling of the water, the twittering of the swallows as they flitted far overhead, now dark angular specks against the blue, now like gleaming stars as the sun caught their white breasts. Above all other sounds came the low murmur of Victor's voice as he crooned away to the kitten and the fishes. It was one of those halcyon days which are said to precede a

storm.

It was irritating to hear, at the most thrilling part of the story, a weak voice calling to be helped out of the boat. "I'm frightened, Sissy!" it said. But Ursula told him to wait, rather irritably, and continued devouring her story.

There was silence for some minutes. Then came a short scuffle, and Victor cried out, despairingly, "Oh, Ursula! my Kitty!"

The girl had still a few lines to finish an exciting chapter, and answered, vaguely, "In a minute, dear."

Meanwhile there came a splash loud enough to rouse Ursula. She sat up and slowly returned to everyday life.

'Victor, Victor, where are you? Don't go too near to the water!" An instant's pause. Then she was answered by a scream of terror from the kitten and some slight splashing.

"Have you dropped Kitty overboard ?" cried she, running to the landing-place.

Yes, the kitten was struggling in the water. And Victor?

A quick look round, and Ursula sprang into the boat, just in time to seize the child as he rose to the surface. She lifted him out, paddled swiftly to the shore, and rushed home with her unconscious burden.

For many hours they tried every means of restoration, but all proved to be in vain. From the first the doctor had seen that it was hopeless. For the fatal shock had come, against which the London physician had warned them, and little Victor Radley's "Ephphatha" had been spoken.

CHAPTER II.

WHEN Ursula was at last apparently made to understand that her little brother was indeed dead, she remained perfectly quiet, and did not even change colour. She went slowly up stairs to her own room and shut the door. "I will not lock it," she thought, "for Victor will want to come in to say good-night."

Then she sat down and gazed through the window into the gathering darkness. The blow had merely stunned her, and as yet realization was impossible. She remembered that some one had told her that Victor was dead, but she did not believe it. The child belonged to her. No one had any right to him but herself, no one knew him or loved him as she did, and of course he had not left her. It was ridiculous to expect her to believe it, and she almost smiled at the idea. Then her mind wandered off to something else, and it was not until night had closed in that she roused herself. A door slammed far away down the passage. "That must be Victor coming to bed. How late he is !"

She got up and crossed over to the door which opened into her brother's little dormitory, pushed it open, and stood upon the threshold listening. "Victor, Victor!" she called, softly.

A puff of chill wind rustled the trees in the garden, and found its

way in at the open window, making Ursula shiver. The silence seemed to answer her, for she turned away trembling, shutting and locking Victor's door with unsteady fingers.

The housekeeper, coming in a few minutes later, found her leaning against the wall with a very white, scared face.

Where is Victor? Why does not he come to bed ?" she asked. Then with a sudden movement, putting her hands to her ears, she said vehemently, "No! don't tell me! "No! don't tell me! I know what you are going to say and I won't listen !"

At length the good woman succeeded in quieting her, and induced her to swallow a few mouthfuls of food, but for hours after she was left alone the girl sat there motionless.

It was nearly midnight when a faint wail sounded from the garden beneath the window. Ursula raised her head and listened until it was repeated, louder than before.

"Victor's kitten! How could he have left her out in the cold ?" Slowly the consciousness of what had occurred dawned upon her confused brain. At first she tried to persuade herself that it was only a horrible dream; but the renewed cries of the cat, and the sound of her father's footsteps coming down the passage, convinced her that it was real. It was years since he had paid a visit to his children's rooms, and it required some very agitating event to startle him out of his ordinary habits. At Ursula's door the steps paused, as if Mr. Radley were listening, and his daughter sat very still. him to come in, for what had they to say to each other at such a time?

She did not want

Evidently he thought she was asleep, for after waiting a few moments he went softly back again, and Ursula's opportunity of drawing near to her only remaining relation was gone for ever.

His footsteps died away, and silence fell gradually in the house. Still Ursula did not move. Then Victor's cat screamed again. "No, no. I will not bring it in," she said, bitterly; "it has killed my little Victor, and it shall die out there too!"

"What if I have

Suddenly another thought came into her mind. killed him with my carelessness and neglect? When he called out for help I answered him crossly, and would not leave my book. He said he was frightened and I would not listen! What if I am his murderess ?"

Shuddering, she crept down stairs and out into the dark garden, and returned with the kitten in her arms.